


now, now

by inertial



Category: B.A.P
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inertial/pseuds/inertial
Summary: You constantly wear that plastic smile of yours, yet you ask why you're so lonely even though you have so many people around you.





	now, now

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Warning: Contains extremely offensive content and triggering themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
> 
> Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with suicide, self-harm, slurs, and other triggering subjects.

 

[ **now, now** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8130RLLOiq4)

 

"So you're the one leaving these suicide notes around."

You fall back in surprise as I pick up the paper crane you left in the corner, blotted blood red for dramatic effect. I cross over the classroom and grab your wrist to find no cuts across. Squatting down, I lift your shorts and you jerk back in shock. There's no scars there either.

"What'd you use for the blood?" I cock a brow, sniffing it and making a face when it genuinely reeks of iron. I gingerly slide a finger under your shirt to check for more scars and you shove me away with a scowl. I catch a glimpse of untouched, smooth skin.

"Period blood? Break into the girl's bathroom and dig up a sanitary pad from the trash?"

"Fuck off, outcast," you seethe, prim and proper Yoo Youngjae letting his facade rot away from sweet innocence and loving kindness to a distasteful insult. "Nosebleeds, alright?"

"Wow, Yoo Youngjae... Language," I laugh, toying with the paper crane. I attempt to unfold it but you beat me to it, snatching it back.

"How sad. The social butterfly Yoo Youngjae wants to kill himself because he's lonely. You think this is a drama?" I hop onto a desk and lean back with a smile. " _I surround myself with people but still, I feel so lonely._ Why not open a blog and whine about how you cut yourself?"

"Fucking stalker, why did you memorise what I wrote?"

The blood between dawn and dusk falls over the classroom. "Because I was the one who found all of them, dumbass. I'm always the one who comes to class earliest."

"I didn't ask a filthy beggar like you to find my notes. You always come so early when no one even wants you here, ugly bastard," you lash out at me, all venom in your words.

I shrug. "I don't like home, I don't like school. But people are always at my house so school's better. At least for a few hours you fuckers aren't around."

"Anyway, I can't say I'm surprised you're doing this, though, seeing how much you beg for attention." I grin. "You wear that plastic smile of yours, have those plastic conversations, yet you wonder why you don't have any real friends? Who are you making friends for? Your split personality, you crazy bitch?"

You grit your teeth. "And why the fuck were you staring at me, you fucking psychopath? Huh, why do you know so much? Were you stalking me, you pitiful lecher? Do you jack off to me in your trailer while your Dad beats the shit out of you, you faggot? Fucking freakshow." You widen your eyes, fury gnawing up your every fibre. "Go drown and slit your throat."

"So this is what you're really like. Sweet Youngjae who helps all the teachers and tries to stop fights by telling both parties they're right." I smile wider. "Yeah, what if I jacked off to you before? You look like a girl. Most of your guy friends probably beat their meat to you, thinking of you screaming for them to go deeper."

"You fucker, you motherfucker, I hope your mother cuts her wrist and bleeds out in the bathroom-"

"She's already dead. You know that. Everyone knows that," I drawls, slipping off the table. "Low blow, Youngjae."

You look remorseful for a moment, but clench your fist and muster up as much shamelessness as you can. You haughtily turn your nose up at me.

"So, why'd you tell the teachers what you found, sissy bitch? People think it's you making it all up." You tap the side of your head as your eyes light up. "You're such a good Samaritan. Ever consider that maybe I was trying to frame you? Huh, fucking retard?"

"Sure. That's why the description matches me perfectly. Popular boy crying over nobody understanding him," I snicker. You clench your fists as your eyes start to water.

"Anyway, I told them because you'd probably throw a fit at me in secret for not doing anything about it. Your point is to beg for attention, anyway."

You swallow and narrow your eyes at me, vulnerability manifesting along with a brutal hatred. "You're such a bastard. I talk about wanting to kill myself and you say I'm begging for attention? No wonder nobody fucking likes you."

I shrug. "Why'd you show it to me on purpose?"

"I wasn't-"

"You were. Why dump it beside the outcast's table? You could have tossed it by Jieun's table, run home and come back to her worriedly talking to the class. You'd definitely get the drama you want. By the way, don't you feel bad for making the class prez worry so much?"

You dart your eyes away. I take out a cigarette and light it up, pointing carelessly at you with it.

"At first I thought whoever this was wanted to frame me, so I thought of throwing it away," I remark. "But once I considered it was you, I wasn't sure anymore. Maybe you felt bad to let your friends see some note drenched in your blood." I slip off the desk and near you, tilting my head as the smoke billows into your face. You cough.

"Or maybe you wanted me in particular to read it."

"Yeah, like I'd want a fucking sad, friendless loser to read my suicide notes," you grit, shoving me aside.

"Then why leave it beside my table, you dumbass?" I crack my neck with a sigh. "You give me so much trouble. Should have just tossed it out and let you die from the lack of attention." I take another drag. "How were you planning to kill yourself?"

It's then that the tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the concrete floor. Your lower lip trembles and you seethe, "This is why everyone wants you to fucking die, Jung Daehyun. Every single person in this class doesn't want to talk to you because you're such a fucking asshole and you deserve to fucking die. I really hope you do."

Your face morphs into such a pathetic expression, lips turned downwards and misery scribbled all over your face. I snivel and hold out my cigarette to you to take a puff. You slap my hand away.

"I'm going to keep making you cry until you tell me why you decided to throw your nosebleed napkins by my desk," I remark.

"No reason, you fucker."

"Tell me, or I'll tell the whole class it's you."

You freeze. The tears blot your shirt and your shoulders wrack with sobs. "I hate you so much. I hate you so fucking much. I shouldn't have chosen you. I shouldn't have."

"So you did pick me in particular." With my free hand, I thumb away the tears on your left cheek. You smack my hand away again, chagrin buried in your irises.

"Why?"

"I was envious, alright?" You weep. "A fucking loser like you with no friends still hasn't killed himself even though it's been years. You don't have a mother, you're dirt poor, skin and bones and on financial aid, the teachers look at you like scum, yet you still haven't committed suicide from all the isolation. Yet here I am, feeling so alone when everyone likes me."

"That pretty mouth of yours really has a way with words," I hum. "I don't like you and a couple others don't too, so you're wrong about that."

You glare at me and I laugh. "You're pretty cute. How long have you been like this?"

You avert your gaze. "A long time. The feelings kept coming and going."

"No, no. How long have you been like _this_?" I wave to gesture at your entire self. "The Yoo Youngjae I know would never say such things. You're the guy who keeps bothering me to join you fucktards for lunch and trying to include me in all the class events. You never meant them, huh?"

"I did," you retort. "I'm nice. Sometimes." You pause and exhale. "And sometimes, I'm not nice. I get really mean like this."

"Wow, you've got a devil and an angel like in the cartoons," I sarcastically snicker. "Does your moral compass swing around a lot?"

You rub your elbow hesitantly. "Yeah."

"Then go see a fucking shrink, you psycho bitch." I inhale deeply and untense at the nicotine in my system.

"You know why you're lonely?" I drawl, heaving out more smoke. "You make friends with one of your faces so your other side has no friends. Why don't you show your true self? You can't be that bad," I end off sarcastically, using a finger to lift your chin. "Until someone like me provokes you, at least."

"You already know. It's because I'm really ugly on the inside." You finally calm down from your previous sobbing, removing your hand and wiping up your tears. "No one would like me."

"So, in the end, you're lonely because no one likes who you are on the inside. Your split personality doesn't have company. That's your answer. Don't need to go around leaving suicide notes by my desk as if I'm some key to your epiphany."

"It's not a split personality, you fucking retard." You purse your lips tautly. "I'm envious. You've got no one around you yet you always look fine. I wonder if you're just hiding it like me."

"I probably have less issues because I don't try to dissociate myself so people like me."

You hop onto another table, swinging your legs like a child. "Why do you talk like this? Are you really such a scumbag?"

"Yeah." I crush the cigarette against the table. You play with the paper crane.

"I'm sorry for saying all those things." A flash of regret scrawls over your eyes. I fish out my last cigarette of the day. I scrutinise it and rub my forehead in annoyance.

"If you're sorry, give me some money to buy more cigarettes."

"No, you fucker." You furrow your brows. "You're going to die earlier because of how much you smoke." You suddenly glower at me, as though remembering I'd told you to go kill yourself fifteen minutes ago. "I hope you do, you ostracised douchebag."

"Wonder how people will react if they hear you saying all these."

You ignore me, tilting your head in contemplation. "You know, I think you're right. I probably feel lonely because I can't talk like how I want to in front of my friends."

"Great. Can you stop leaving suicide notes beside my table?"

You pretend to not hear my words, though you visibly lock your jaw. "Isn't it lonely? Doesn't it hurt that nobody likes you?"

"Nope. I don't like people. They're so fucking annoying."

"Don't you ever want to talk to someone?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Wow. You're really sad, but that's cool too." You stare at me with some sort of twisted wonderment and pity in your eyes. I squint at you and shake my head.

"You're fucked up in the head."

"So are you. If you curse at me, you should take a good look at yourself, Daehyun," you counter, finally giving a comeback without sounding as if you're on the verge of tears--or about to rip apart my throat.

"You done with your drama? If you don't mind I come to school early to get some shut-eye." I cock my head back and shut my eyes momentarily.

"Why? Does your Dad really beat you?"

"He used to, until I tried strangling him some years back. Now he just spits at me."

You shrink back slightly. "Oh. My Dad doesn't hit me, but he's really fucked up too," you share earnestly. "I've never told anyone this before."

I flicker my eyes over to you, raising a brow when you look at me expectantly. "Boo hoo," I remark. A crease forms between your brows.

"Hey, he's really fucked up, okay. Once I left the windows open when I went out and the rain came in. He made me sit by the window the next day and let me get drenched." You look away with some sadness, kneading your shirt.

"Whenever I fall sick, my Mom hides me in the cupboard so my Dad doesn't know. He gets really mad, so we pretend that I'm in school and I rest in my cupboard."

I look at you with my nostrils flared. "What the hell?"

You chuckle, eyes lighting up as you shift a little closer. "I know, right? But he's okay sometimes. Like, 50% of the time?" You swing your legs more vigorously. "My Mom's pretty bad too. She gets super stressed because of my Dad, so she blames it on me. She beats me when I fall sick or hurt myself."

"You sure you're not trying to kill yourself because of your family?" I scoff. You shake your head.

"No, I'm used to it. Sometimes, I feel like killing myself when stuff happens at home, but it goes away quickly." You blow up your cheeks. "But this one," you squeeze your paper crane, "makes me want to die a lot."

"Alright, alright. I didn't agree to be your therapist." I carelessly wave you off and you jut out your lower lip, blatantly offended. "Go see the school counsellor or something. Or keep up with your charade till you've had enough, I don't care. Just stop leaving it beside my table. I can't pretend I don't see them anymore since I've given them to the teacher. If she finds it in the bin she's going to bug me."

Just then, someone passes by the classroom. You hastily turn away and duck your head, the darkness in the classroom easily shrouding you. I watch the figure pace past and flick at your forehead.

"He's gone, you coward."

"I should go too. People are going to come soon." You dump the paper crane into your bag and zip it up, dabbing your face for any remnants of tears.

"Where do you go after you dump your bloody notes?" I ask in mild curiosity.

"I hide in the third floor toilets. Nobody ever goes there." You sling your bag over your shoulder and stare at me for a while.

"What?" I light another cigarette relishing in the scent of nicotine.

You swallow, squirming nervously. "Do you want to have lunch together?'

"Wow. Treating me like a friend already? You're fake as hell. You just told me to go slit my throat," I laugh, my eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're funny. It's been a while since I had a good laugh."

You blush in indignation, expression crumpling into remorse. "I said I was sorry. I'll buy you more cigarettes."

"Look, can't you go find someone else? You're a popular kid. Someone's bound to want to listen to you rant because you're so loved."

"No, only you know how I'm like. I don't really have a lot of options." You continue gazing at me, a slight sulk tugging down your lips. "Please? I'll buy you ten boxes of cigarettes."

"No. Fuck off, tranny." I hop off the table and go to my seat, burying my head in my arms. I hear your footsteps and turn my head, jolting when I realise you're crouching right beside me. You frown at me.

"I'm not a tranny, you stupid bastard. Eat with me or... or I'll keep leaving notes by your table."

"And then? I'll just keep giving them to the teacher. Sooner or later people are going to get tired of your shit because you're still alive to keep leaving dumb notes." I rake my eyes over your face. You seriously look like a girl; it's hilarious. I nudge you back and press on your chest.

"For a second I thought I'd feel breasts. You really are a guy."

You grit your teeth. "Stop being an asshole. I'll... I'll frame you if you don't eat lunch with me."

"How?" I laugh. "Are you that pathetic that you need to drag me to eat lunch with you? You want the outcast to be your friend?"

You bite your lip. "Don't you want friends too? We can be friends," you persist, some embarrassment to your tone.

"I just told you a few minutes ago: I don't like people. Are you fucking deaf?"

Your shoulders fall. You stammer in a small voice, "I'll tell people I saw you leaving the notes there. You know people trust me. You'll get suspended or even expelled for making all of these up."

I stare at you and wrench you over by the collar, examining the fear that blooms over your face. My fist tightens over the fabric and your breath hitches.

"You're a fucking bitch, Yoo Youngjae. I really hope the whole world finds out one day." I shove you away carelessly and you stumble back into the desk.

"Fine. I'll go, you pathetic piece of shit." I smirk at you, looking at you, the absolute mess, struggling to stand. "What if your friends see, huh? Won't I ruin your reputation?"

"Let's meet on the rooftop. I'll buy you lunch and cigarettes," you breathe, some happiness to your eyes. "You'll be there, right?"

I gaze at you, resting my face against my arm. "You're so fucking pathetic." I turn back to sleep. "Yeah, yeah."

"Thanks. And sorry. I'll see you during lunch," you say with an unfathomable lightness to your words. With that, your footsteps dissipate into the usual silence.

What a fucking joke you are, Yoo Youngjae.


End file.
